


Battle Scars

by sentient_bees



Series: The Calm After the Storm [5]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Dad!Tony, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Protective Tony Stark, Sensory Overload, Thanos makes kids cry, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-13 22:41:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17496740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sentient_bees/pseuds/sentient_bees
Summary: Peter refuses to acknowledge what happened after the snap. It soon catches up with him when he's given a reminder, months later.





	Battle Scars

**Author's Note:**

> This one is kind of short and angsty. Enjoy!

Peter was having a good day. He was having a great day, actually. He aced two tests that he had been stressing over all week, pet, like, three dogs (three!!), finished building a Lego spaceship with Ned during his free period and even finished his essay with MJ, which he was very proud of.

 

Yeah, he was having a great day. 

 

That is, until two goons decided to rob a jewelry store in broad daylight. Luckily, he was in his suit when it happened, and he quickly apprehended the two amatuer criminals. 

 

He webbed both of them to the wall, but not before one of them rolled out something that looked almost like a grenade. It beeped for a few seconds, Peter thinking quickly and shielding the civilians from the blast. The grenade never went off, however, and instead emitted a noxious blue gas. Peter made quick work of evacuating everyone before it could spread any further, but he found himself wheezing by the time everyone was out. What’s worse is that it started to crystalize, hitting like pins and needles as the toxin quickly spread to his lungs and pelted his skin from under the suit. It was almost grainy by the time it made contact, coating his nose and throat with the substance, no doubt clinging to his lungs. Like. . .sand. Or dust.

 

Oh.

 

Oh no. 

 

Peter then remembered, to his horror, the impossible feeling of death. Of slipping away completely. The feeling of his legs disappearing from underneath him as he clung onto Tony like he was the only thing in the universe that could keep him alive, begging him for his life. As if it would make a difference when he faded away into nothingness, waking up confused and scared in a plain of endlessness, with no boundaries and no way to tell what was up or down. 

 

His breathing became more fast-paced as he coughed, falling to his knees, resisting the urge to throw up. 

 

He remembered the feeling of his lungs leaving his body before his head, how he was aware of how hard it became to breathe, like he was being undone. He wrapped his arms around himself, head close to the ground as he struggled for air. 

 

Suddenly, the familiar sound of the Iron Man repulsors. Peter looked up just in time to see the metal face plate of the suit before he was engulfed into the darkness he feared. 

 

\-------

 

He woke up with a start. 

 

He immediately tried to sit up, only to be forced back down by a sudden wave of dizziness and a gentle hand.

 

“Don’t try to get up, you’ll only hurt yourself.” The voice belonged to Tony. That was good. Peter opened his eyes to a dim-lit room, and considered his current situation. His head was pounding furiously, in time with his panicked heartbeat, which was also keeping with the monitor that beeped next to him. Too loud, in his opinion. His chest ached like it never had before, even during his recovery from a collapsed lung many months ago. He looked down to see that he wasn’t in his suit, but instead in his boxers and a paper-like hospital gown. It was far too scratchy, and he tried to pry it off in favor of the too-thin bed sheets. 

 

Tony must have realized this, because he helped him remove the annoyance, tossing it into a trashcan next to the bed and pulling the sheets farther up to keep him warm. 

 

“ ‘hanks” his voice was hoarse, and he felt straps on his face that harassed him to no end. He reached up to his mouth and nose to find an oxygen mask was placed there in his sleep. He tried to remove it as to rid of the straps, but a hand stopped him.

 

“I wouldn’t take that off, underoos. You’re not in great shape right now,” Peter knew Tony was speaking softly, but to him it was too loud, to overwhelming, and he wanted to scream. But because he couldn’t, he opted for giving up and instead squirming restlessly in his bed, whimpering. He knew he was acting childish, but the harsh light from the hallway and the straps on his face and the IV that was hurting forearm, it was all too much for him to process.

 

Then he remembered the dust. Or, more correctly stated, the gas that had dominated his chest that had then crystallized and turned into something similar to dust, like him. When he died. 

 

Before he could stop it, tears welled up and blurred his vision. He stared determinately at the ceiling, knowing how ridiculous he must have looked, not wanting to meet his mentor’s gaze. 

 

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” Tony sounded slightly panicked as he scooted closer to the teen, “You gotta tell me what’s wrong so I can help you, bud. Where does it hurt?”

 

Peter just shook his head as his lip quivered. He wanted to say everywhere, but he wasn’t thinking about the physical pain anymore. He was thinking about all of the time he refused to acknowledge that he had actually died, and it all came rushing back in an instant. 

 

He meant to tell Tony what was bothering him, but instead he just let out another cry as he sat up suddenly, yanking the oxygen mask off in the process. Tony seemed to realize what was going on, because immediately there was a trash can in front of him as he threw up the contents of his stomach. Tony just circled his back with his hand in an attempt to soothe him in his distress. 

 

He dry-heaved when there was nothing left to throw up, and stared as Tony removed the trash can from his lap. He choked out another sob, bringing his hands to his eyes as he attempted, yet failed, to keep the tears at bay. He barely registered when the weight of the bed shifted as Tony sat down, facing him. He held onto his forearms, the teen curling in on himself as he attempted to get away. 

 

The harsh light, the acidic burning in his throat, his injured chest spasming as he tried to hold back the tears. It was all too much. Too much, and it reminded him far too much of when he had turned to dust.

 

When he had died. 

 

His miserable attempts at keeping his sorrow away were in vain, however, because he quickly burst into tears. 

 

And, for the second time in his life, he clung onto Tony like he was the only thing keeping him alive. 

 

Peter buried his face in the mechanic’s chest, sobbing so hard he thought his head would burst before it was over. He tightly gripped the back of his mentor’s shirt, as if it were a lifeline. Tony held him tightly, one arm gently wrapped around his still-aching midsection and another running his hand through the teen’s curls lovingly. He stayed silent as he let him cry. 

 

“I-I d-ied, and I turned i-into dust,” Peter gasped for air, “a-and the-n there was sm-moke in the stor-e.” He launched into another round of sobs as Tony shushed him and rocked him back and forth slightly.

 

“I know, kid, I know. I’m right here. You’re okay.” Peter dug his face further into his chest at that, and continued to cry. His ears felt like they were stuffed full of cotton, and his father-figure’s voice was distant, yet somehow reassuring all the same. His body felt numb and he couldn’t quite see through all the tears. He felt completely and utterly helpless. 

 

Eventually, his almost animalistic cries turned to sniffles, tears still running down his cheeks as he tried to gain control of his spasming chest. He shuddered and choked, launching into a coughing fit. Tony picked up the abandoned oxygen mask, and he didn’t resist when it was put over his mouth and nose, gratefully breathing in as his lungs cleared and the coughing subsided.

 

His head was screaming, worse than ever, and everything felt completely numb as he leaned his head against his mentor’s chest. He could feel the rhythmic beating of Tony’s heart and took comfort in it.

 

He was alive. He was there. 

 

Peter wasn’t fading away, he was right there, exhausted. The familiar feeling gave him comfort, it was the opposite of what he felt when he faded away. He felt gentle hands lean him back against the hospital bed, and he closed his eyes.

 

“ ‘ony?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Please don’t leave.”

 

“I’m not going anywhere bud.”

 

\---------

 

That night, Pepper returned from her business trip. FRIDAY directed her to the medbay, where Tony and Peter were, and she smiled softly to herself at the sight before her. 

 

She couldn’t resist and sent May a picture of the two fast asleep in Peter’s hospital bed, the boy curled into Tony’s side, breathing steadily.

**Author's Note:**

> So uhh yeah!! Really angsty. :) I based this off of what some of my most servere panic attacks have felt like, so you know you're only getting the very best home-grown anxiety™ out there.


End file.
